


The Deal of a Lifetime

by LilyK



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Curtain Fic, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: Bodie doesn't say what he needs to; then Bodie says what he needs to.





	The Deal of a Lifetime

"Pour us a dram, Bodie. Make it a fair one."

At Cowley's request, Bodie pushes himself up from his chair and, after a questioning glance at Doyle, he does as bid. While he's pouring, he wonders what Cowley has percolating under his thatch. Something not good for certain agents of Her Majesty's government, he reckons.

Glasses distributed, he sips his drink slowly, savouring the bite of good Scotch. All Scotch is good, he muses. Cowley barely touches his, and he wonders about that. After another look over his glass, he notices that the Cow is almost -- fidgety.

Christ, something bad's happened. Or it's looming on the horizon. Bloody hell.

"Doyle, I have something to discuss with you," Cowley begins. "If you'd rather do this in private, I'm sure Bodie would understand."

Doyle lowers his glass to look at Cowley, then at Bodie, who shrugs, before he turns back to his boss. "Ah, no. That's not necessary. I don't have any secrets from Bodie. Well," he offers with a sarky grin, "not many."

Bodie raises his glass in toast, to which Doyle responds in kind.

"This is serious." Cowley's tone is a bit off, Bodie realises, and it's making him antsy. Now he's starting to sweat a little, wondering what the controller has up his sleeve. Some days he's just plain tired of triple think.

"Sorry, sir," Doyle says with absolutely no contriteness, which makes Bodie almost giggle he's so wound up now. But Cowley's face tempers his usual black humour and he turns his attention to his superior.

"The other night, at the reception, Doyle, you met Melissa Arthur."

"Yes, sir."

"I have a personal favour to ask you regarding the young lady. As you are well aware, she's the daughter of Frederick Arthur. He and I were in the service together, and I consider him a good friend. His daughter, his only child, has been wronged. Apparently, she was led astray by an older man." Cowley pauses.

"Led astray," Bodie quips. "Shagged somebody she shouldn't've, is more like it. She's a looker. Not a big surprise, there."

"Bodie, you're such a moron." Doyle shakes his head as he rolls his eyes. "Ignore him, Mr Cowley. I do remember her. She's a young thing, quite pretty. I spoke with her and she didn't seem like the kind that bed-hops. Very well schooled, polite, friendly, even a bit shy."

"Aye, she's young. Barely twenty. And unbeknownst to her, she was lied to by a married man. A man who revealed to her no such ties, who promised her love, a secure home and a family, then abandoned her in her time of need."

"A man we might know, sir?" Bodie asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you worry about names, 3.7," Cowley glares for a moment before he admits, "but yes. He shall, of course, remain unnamed in this office, but he holds high rank in our government. He's been severely reprimanded. However, this is not our concern. What is our- my concern is my friend's child. She's in the family way and it's going to be a scandal for all of them."

Bodie snorts. "Really, sir, in this day and age, I doubt anybody will even notice."

Cowley leans forward. "Bodie, some of us still adhere to what you young men consider old-fashioned values of morality and honour. The girl and her family feel they've been ill used."

"Is that where I come in?" Doyle asks, moving to the very edge of his seat. "Sir?"

Cowley sighs and rubs his eyes before he nods slowly. "Aye, Doyle. You always are quite astute." He pauses yet again before he finally states, "Melissa took a fancy to you at the reception, and I told her father I'd ask how you felt about an offer that we discussed. I know it's somewhat unorthodox, but I promised my friend I would present the idea. Miss Arthur has been apprised of the facts, and she has expressed her willingness to the deal. It is entirely up to you, Doyle.

"Would you consider marrying the girl? Giving her and her child a name? It won't affect your standing in CI5, and I'm sure you would find her an amicable companion. The family also assures me that they are financially secure and that you would share in that security. Furthermore, there is no requirement that there be -- conjugals, but you're both adults. I'm sure you can work out the details between you."

Next to him, Doyle barely breathes. Bodie feels his world falling out from under his feet. He wants to stand up, to shout at Cowley that Doyle is not marrying any high society bint. Why is that? Cowley will ask. Because, Bodie will respond, Doyle belongs to me.

But Bodie can't say those words. And he never will. No one must know about him. He'd be a laughing stock in CI5, in all of bloody London. Hell, of the entire country. He's be labelled a fag, a poofter, a homo. As much as he knows he loves his partner, he can't ever allow himself to be exposed.

Bodie dares to look over at Doyle. Those bright green eyes are latched onto him. They ask many questions, but the main one, simple in its premise, is: Do I say yes or do I say no?

Bodie holds Doyle's gaze for at least thirty seconds. He hates being backed into a corner. He hates that he's being asked to make the decision that would ruin both of their lives. He feels a flash of anger at Doyle, who's more than willing to chuck it all in for a life with Bodie. He's willing to be called names. He's willing to be tossed out of the squad on his ear. He's willing to endure ridicule and ostracism. All for Bodie. He's said as much time and again.

Bodie has always refused. Quite adamantly, actually. Even now, as he faces the loss of Doyle permanently, he can't say the words. All he can do is shrug and finish his drink.

Then, licking his lips, Bodie smirks. "She's a pretty lass, Doyle. You'll get on like a house a' fire. I'll be the best man at the nuptials. Need to stand up for my mate, don't I." He doesn't make the last part a question at all.

Doyle's face pales. His eyes close slowly and, when they finally open, he turns his head towards Cowley. He says the words that seal his and Bodie's fates for all eternity.

"I'll do it, sir. Don't have anyone else to worry about but me. Would be nice to have somebody at home, waiting for me after a rough day or a bad op. Somebody who's fine and friendly and- Yes, sir. Set it up." He puts his glass on the very edge of Cowley's desk and sits back.

Doyle's hands are laced together, the knuckles white. Bodie longs to reach out, to cover those hands with his own. Hands that have touched him in places nobody has since he was in nappies. Bringing him such pleasure, such love. Yet fear keeps him frozen in his spot. He's a fucking coward.

Doyle's always been the valiant one in this partnership. Bodie never doubts that for a second. He allows Doyle to continue his bravery unchecked. After all, what can Bodie do but ask Cowley for a refill of his drink.

\-------------------------

Bodie pulls up in front of the registry office. He glances about, seeing Cowley's car, the driver waiting inside. He sees Doyle's Capri, Murphy's Triumph, other lads' and lasses' vehicles. The whole squad had turned out to celebrate Doyle exchanging vows with his intended.

Bodie thinks he'll vomit.

But he doesn't. It isn't dignified, so he climbs from the vehicle and rubs his sweaty hands down his trousers. He dressed carefully in all new clothing. Black trousers, crisp white shirt, deep blue tie, dark grey leather blazer. Even his under garments, socks and shoes are new. For some reason, he feels that all new clothing expresses his inner self. Because today he must be new. For himself. For Doyle. He has to be new and brave and do the right thing. He is not a coward (he hopes).

Pulling open the door, he sees the group standing inside the room to his right. He enters and clears his throat. When Bodie knows everybody is looking at him, he walks over to Doyle.

"I have something to say." Bodie manages to smile. "If you'll all give me a few moments of your time. Please," he adds, looking about the room.

"Bodie," Murphy says, "wait."

"No. No, Murph. This can't wait. This has to be done now." Now, before Bodie chickens out. Now, before he faints from fear, from terror. Christ, he's such a prat! Get a grip, he orders himself.

Murphy touches his sleeve. "You don't know what's-"

"I do know, Murphy. I do. Honest to God, I know what's going to happen, and I damn well know what has to be done. Right here. Right now. So shut it and let me say my piece!"

Murphy blushes and shakes his head, stepping back. "Go on, mate. It's your show." He waves a hand at Bodie, almost a bow.

"Ta very much," Bodie mutters, then he pushes the irritation away and turns back to Doyle.

The others all look at him: Melissa, her parents, another girl - her witness for the vows, no doubt. Cowley, Anson, Jax, Murphy, Susan, a half dozen others. All eyes are on him.

Bodie clears his throat and reaches out to touch Doyle's sleeve. "I practised a long speech in front of the mirror for two hours last night, Doyle. It was pretty good, if I do say so myself. I can be quite eloquent when the occasion arises." Bodie grins and straightens his necktie. Doyle doesn't say a word. Rather, he keeps looking at him like he's grown another head. Bodie resists the urge to glance at his shoulder to see if it's sprung up and is drooling down his new jacket.

Instead of his well-planned speech, Bodie swallows and blurts out, "Don'tmarryher-- runawaywith me-- herenowtoday-- pleaseray."

"Eh?" Doyle says after a few moments of examining Bodie cautiously. "Did you just say what I think you said? You want me to cancel my wedding?"

Bodie merely nods.

"Oh." Doyle's eyes narrow. "Why?"

"Are you going to make me say it again?"

Doyle's arms cross his chest. "Yes."

Bodie's very loud sigh does nothing to soften the look on his partner's face, so he forges ahead. (Maybe he isn't quite the coward he thinks he is.) "I love you. Marry me instead. Well, run away with me since it's illegal in most countries for us to shag each other into oblivion. But I have this property in Fiji. It's been making money for the past five years. Has a hotel on it. Plenty of tourists. We can live in the main house, run the place ourselves. There's a bar and a restaurant. The beach is-"

A hand clamps over his mouth.

"You bloody moron." Murphy glares at him. "If you'd have just shut up for a damned minute, I could have told you that Melissa and I had already told everybody here that she and I want to marry. That I'm willing to be a father to her child, and that we'd just been reunited two days ago after we'd taken a fancy to each other years ago, in primary school!"

"Eh?" Bodie blusters out. "You mean I've just outed myself and my partner as homos when I didn't need to?"

"Yup," Murphy says, a huge grin on his face.

Bodie glances from one person to another before his gaze finds Doyle, who is looking at him with such love in his eyes that Bodie's breathless for a good half a minute. He knows that even if he did make a royal arse out of himself in front of God and Country, that Doyle understands and very much appreciates every single word he said.

"Doyle?" Bodie says, holding out his hand.

"I do," Doyle replies, grabbing Bodie's fingers firmly.

"Come on, then."

Bodie walks out of the room with Doyle beside him. They don't even bother glancing back, but walk side by side out the front entryway. On the steps, for appearances' sake, they unlink their hands, but the moment they're in Bodie's Capri, Bodie drags Doyle into his arms for a loud, long and sloppy kiss.

Then he laughs out loud, turns on the ignition and drives off. He wishes they were heading off into a bright, clear sunset just like in the films he loves to watch, but it's rainy and grey and foggy. Even so, he laughs yet again as the happiness inside him bubbles out. Doyle joins in, his own pleasure erupting in bright peals of merriment.

"When we're on the island, it'll be warm and sunny all the time," Bodie tells his lover, turning on the windscreen wipers.

Doyle laughs even more, and his strong hand squeezes Bodie's shoulder. "As long as we're together, it's always warm and sunny, petal."

The End


End file.
